


Talking To the Moon

by IndigoDream



Series: Bribe & Reward fics [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Reading, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, softness overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: Jaskier’s hands are in Geralt’s hair, slowly undoing the tangles and brushing them. The witcher had put them up before going on his hunt, so there isn’t too much blood there, but Jaskier can’t help the worry rising in him. Geralt is still sleeping, recovering from the fight with the Nekkers. He has been like this for the last couple of hours, and it shouldn’t worry Jaskier as much as it does, and yet…--There are good hunts, and there are bad hunts. After a bad hunt, Geralt is injured, and Jaskier takes care of him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Bribe & Reward fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745836
Comments: 16
Kudos: 281





	Talking To the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaliciousVegetarian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaliciousVegetarian/gifts).



> This is a gift for my friend Clayre!! Ze requested soft Geraskier with Jaskier reading to Geralt, I hope I managed properly :') 
> 
> Enjoy this fic! It's short and very sweet, and not beta-ed oops

Jaskier’s hands are in Geralt’s hair, slowly undoing the tangles and brushing them. The witcher had put them up before going on his hunt, so there isn’t too much blood there, but Jaskier can’t help the worry rising in him. Geralt is still sleeping, recovering from the fight with the Nekkers. He has been like this for the last couple of hours, and it shouldn’t worry Jaskier as much as it does, and yet… 

The thing between them is so recent, so new, that Jaskier can’t help the fear that it’ll be destroyed and washed away in the blink of an eye. For now, they are only shy kisses and crushing embraces, soft caresses and whispered good luck before hunts. Geralt is so gentle, even too gentle at times. Jaskier wants to hate it, to tell him that he isn’t breakable, but that isn’t quite true, is it? He is just human, after all. 

Geralt moves slightly, a whine coming from his throat, and Jaskier stills immediately. He has been trying to keep it as gentle as possible, but there are knots that speak of too many days spent without any hair grooming happening. Jaskier should have been more careful. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice is small, almost childish, as he moves his unbroken hand, trying to find Jaskier through touch.

He must have a fever. Jaskier should have checked for that, why didn’t he? He had been so obsessed with the wound over Geralt’s left eye, which had spilled so much blood, and then his broken hand and splintered forearm, that he had forgotten to see whether or not there were other issues.

“I’m here,” Jaskier whispers gently and reaches to take Geralt’s hand in his own. “It’s alright. Do you need something?” 

“Want… Want to hear you,” Geralt says again, blinking awake slowly. “It’s strange, when you don’t talk.” 

“Is this your way of telling me I talk too much?” Jaskier tries teasing, but his voice is too full of tears and worry to convey properly the affection. 

“No,” Geralt tries shaking his head, whines softly. “I love your voice…” 

He is struggling to stay awake, his eyelids falling at a fastened pace, but he looks up at Jaskier, who is looming over him slightly. 

The bed they are on is a bit too narrow for the both of them, but it had made for great cuddles two nights ago, before Geralt had left. Now, Jaskier is sitting with Geralt’s head on his lap, his white hair splayed over his thighs and the pillows, and Geralt is laying down in an almost macabre way. 

“I know,” Jaskier assures him gently, kissing his forehead. “I’m teasing. What do you want me to tell you?” 

“Anything,” Geralt says, squeezing on the hand still holding his own. “A story?” 

“Oh, I can do that,” Jaskier nods and intertwines their fingers. “Let’s see, what is there that I can tell you…” 

He thinks, tries to remember any of his songs and stories that he tells in the evenings, in the dim and warm atmosphere of the inns and taverns they stop at. He can’t recall anything, or what he does appears to him empty and meaningless. His worry is too sharp to allow him to come up with a story as well; he can only see again and again Geralt stumbling through the door of the inn, arm bent in an unnatural shape and dried blood caked all over the left half of his face. Jaskier hadn’t screamed bloody murder right then, but he had felt a spike of fear sharper than anything he had ever experienced before. 

“You can’t mock me for what I’m about to read to you then, alright?” He caresses Geralt’s hair gently and slowly moves. “I’ll be right back, love.” 

Geralt makes a noise of displeasure but he keeps his eyes on Jaskier as the bard goes to look through his own pack.

Despite his regular complaining that so much walking was bound to hurt him, Jaskier has never said anything about the weight of his own pack. Geralt had offered him a choice long ago, when they had just started travelling together: either he put his lute on Roach, or he put his pack. It had been an easy choice to make. His lute is worth more to Jaskier than his entire life, and he can bear to carry his own pack; he has more muscle than people expected, and it helps keeping him in good shape, which is definitely a plus when you travel with a witcher. After all, Jaskier has had to defend himself, and Geralt although they do not speak of those instances much, from patrons at inns and bandits on the road. He has even given the occasional monster a taste of his own silver dagger, which had been a gift from Geralt, and a very useful one at that. 

Niched next to a doublet he keeps for the performances at courts he occasionally was invited to, he finds two books, binding old and pages frail. He had nicked them from Oxenfurt’s library in the very first year he had been there. Nobody had suspected the sunny fifteen years old who enchanted half the professors and annoyed to death the other half. 

He settles on the bed, and, despite the pain that is undoubtedly coursing through his body, Geralt settles his head back on his lap. 

“Would never mock you,” Geralt mumbles, inhaling deeply. “You smell like blood, and rosemary.” 

“Mm,” Jaskier nods, flipping the first book open and looking for the right story to tell. “My grandmother used to say rosemary kept the devils away from your loved ones. Thought I could give it a try today.” 

Geralt smiles ever so slightly, and he struggles for a few seconds before managing to catch Jaskier’s hand in his own. “I should carry some for you as well.” 

“We will think about this later, when you are all healed up, alright? For now, focus on healing properly.” 

“Then read to me.” Geralt pouts, and Jaskier can’t help his own smile. “I’m waiting for my story.” 

“Of course you are,” Jaskier chuckles and bends down, pressing a feather light kiss to Geralt’s lips. “It’s not very practical when I only have one hand though.” 

“You’ll manage,” Geralt assures him and closes his eyes again. “Read, please.” 

Jaskier doesn’t have much of a choice after that. He simply has to comply, to allow the words to soothe Geralt. 

The first story is one of a knight pledging her love to the Moon Goddess, and Jaskier reads the fairytale in a soft voice. A few times, he stops, and Geralt stirs, opening an eye with a displeased frown on his face. Each time this happens, Jaskier has to hold back a chuckle before continuing. 

The fairytale collection is simple, and quite straightforward, but they are Jaskier’s favourite stories. They are what made him fall in love with story telling, why he had gone to Oxenfurt in the first place. Then he had fallen in love with music and telling his stories through it. He had made it a life out of his passion, and he hasn’t regretted that decision ever since. 

It is nice though, every once in a while, to remind himself why he does this, why he sings and pours his heart in stories, sometimes just for laughs and giggles, yes, but sometimes to see his audience reacting to the tales of woe and beauty he can weave. Those fairytales remind him of every moment he has felt connected to stories. They remind him of being young and pledging to himself to devote his life to storytelling. He feels more like himself when he reads those stories. 

Geralt stretches a few times, and when Jaskier is done reading all the tales, his own throat is sore, but the happy smile on Geralt’s face is unmistakeable. 

Jaskier bends down, presses a tender kiss to the Witcher’s forehead, and picks up the second book. He can provide all the comfort in the world if that is what Geralt needs. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it :D This was so much fun for me to write, I love sweet & fluffy things <3


End file.
